The Lightshield Dynasty
by T.S. Atlas
Summary: The story of the Lightshields, the story of Demacia, the story of justice and righteousness in the face of war.
1. CH I - Death of a King

The Lightshield Dynasty

Chapter I – The Death of a King

The name of Lightshield breaths fire of patriotism into the hearts of all Demacians. My father stood at the head of this nation, and with his standard of Gold and Blue, erected the greatest nation in all of Valoran, where justice above all else is sought for, where strength and valor were respected and honored, where buildings of marble, intricate in design and a spectacle to behold, were raised. Demacia was beautiful, its people united, its King just and right, and its air royal and fair.

My father, King Jarvan Lightshield, the first of his name, stood true to the name of his house. Lightshield, to protect that which is good, to protect the light, from all those evil and unjust, all those vile and corrupt, to fend off the darkness. He had enemies, of course, but there was only ever one true enemy in his eyes, in the eyes of the nation. Noxus.

Even in his age, a man of seven and fifty years, he stood tall and muscled. The statues of his likeness, with all their chiseled features, could not compare to his grandeur and his might. He led the country, he was their King. As much as a father could respect a son, to see him as a man rather than child, I looked at my father and saw his conviction, saw his righteous glory and saw the man that he was. He was my father, but, more than that, he was my King, a man I would forever respect and strive to be, a man a nation would respect, a man a nation would never forget.

At my birth, he gave me his own name. Now, how could I possibly surmount the name of Jarvan Lightshield? I strived to be him, I was honorable, respectable, but I was never him, Never Jarvan Lightshield, but I was content with that, content with the fear of failing his name. I could never amount to a fraction of the man my father was. But then again, no one could. But there was one thing I could do. I could be King, I could be Jarvan Lightshield, the second of his name, and stand in glory of Gold and Blue and lead the nation not in my name but the name of my father, of the beloved Jarvan Lightshield, and we as a whole will strive to his see his vision of righteousness. A world, just and right, a world of good and peace.

But, sadly, peace was far from our sight, a war loomed over Demacia. At his age of seven and fifty, he took to the fields with solders, with his countrymen, with all of Demacia at his back, and they rode into battle, galloping atop of mighty warhorses that towered over most men, with steel in hand and the standard of gold and blue flying high, singing songs of inspiration to all those who called themselves "Demacian", giving them pride and strength. But more than the flag of Demacia, was the King himself, riding vanguard, leading his men. He once said, no King should ever expect his men to fight for him when he himself would not fight for his men.

Noxus was outnumbered, ten Demacians for every Noxian. They were pushed back to their gates, but war is war, and war is unpredictable. In war, both sides suffer casualties. The Noxians lost their general, a warmonger named Sion, a man who only saw red with a bloodlust unmatched by any man, beast or demon. The world was a better place without him walking the earth…but, both sides had sustained losses…

All of Demacia was quiet, hushed as the solders marched back from victory, but upon each of their faces a grim expression. I was tasked with the defense of the city, so I had stayed in Demacia while our armies marched out to Noxus under the command of my father. I remember the day Jarvan Lightshield, the first of his name, came home, not as my King, but as my father.

Women hushed their children, holding in their sobs, not allowing themselves even a whimper as the children worriedly pulling on their skirts, unaware of what happened, their fathers hung their heads and tightened their fists, the children seeing, for the first, and most likely the last time, the image of their father crying. I stood in the city square, the only sound to be heard the flapping of flags. The large fountain, whose water flowed crystal, ceased to flow, the surface of it reflecting my image to me as if it were a mirror, the water cold as ice and still as stone.

Many residents were crowding around the square, and those who couldn't fit found other positions to take audience, whether it be on the sides of the main road leading to the gate, from the windows of the buildings made from white stone and dark wood, peeping from the alleys, all were present. The silence was deafening, the air of Demacia weighted, but still, as I knew what was to come, I stood as my father did, tall, with strong firm shoulders, awaiting for the blow that would strike not only me but all of Demacia.

The ranks stood in the entrance of the square, a single man stepping forward. In his hand, he held high the lance my father used on the fields, crimson gleaming on its blade and the Demacian standard, torn and red with blood, flying high. As I stepped toward him, his gaze fell to the ground, his face twisted in pain as I saw tears fall to where his gaze was set. His hands tightened even more around the lance. He fell to one knee so suddenly it hurt, holding out the lance horizontally.

"My King," he said. He could not look me in the eye. He was the head general, the man who rode beside my father, the man who failed him. How could he look me in the eye? The blame was on him, and although I held no ill feelings to him, he was subject to the blame and feelings he held for himself. I gripped the lance, taking it in my hands.

Raising it high, I brought it down with great strength, burying it in the ground, breaking the pavement and cracking the earth, the flag high and proud, showing signs of blue and gold and crimson. The general looked up, surprised by the action. A slight murmur ran through the sea of people gathered, but they hushed as I spoke.

"Today, Demacia has been victorious in its struggle against Noxus!" I roared, my words echoing throughout all of the city-state. "Today, we mourn for the fallen, for the brave men who died for justice and order! Today, we mourn for the soldiers! For our fellow men! For all the Demacians who could not return to be with us today! Today, we mourn for Jarvan Lightshield, First of His Name and King of Demacia!"

The crowds exploded with shouts and cries, all cheering, "Demacia! Demacia!" and when those cries died out, they were only replaced with louder, more deafening cheers of "LONG LIVE THE KING!"

They looked to me as their King now. My presence would invoke patriotism in their hearts, set ablaze their spirits with the fire of righteousness, just as my father's had. They looked to me, Jarvan Lightshield, the Second of His Name and King of Demacia.

And I looked to them, I saw their sobbing faces, not as a prince anymore, but as a king.

And I ran.


	2. CH II - Purpose

The Lightshield Dynasty

Chapter II – Purpose

The man before me was the spitting image of his father, from his dark hair that fell past his shoulders to the chiseled features of his face and body. But, there was something more, something he had that his predecessor didn't. His eyes were cold and hard, and in them a fire that burned so brightly it was almost blinding.

This man was the son of the man that gave me a home; that gave me purpose. A man I would call friend should he still be here. There was a time when I had the chance, but as I looked to him, I could not admit such feelings. Perhaps because I saw him more than as a friend. I admired him, saw him as my brother. I saw him as my King.

If you were to ask me had I seen him before our fateful encounter, I would not know how to answer. The crowd was made not only of highborn but low as well. Should he have come in disguise, covering his face and hair in mud, I wore rags rather than his royal attire, I would not know. If he had dressed fine but lacked the blue and gold of Demacia, I could not say I saw him with those of class. But there is something I do know. He was there, amongst the sea of faces, amongst the audience that had gathered to watch me die countless times.

I was known as Viscero then. I had been given a choice. Fight for my life, against other contestants, other prisoners like me, or, be flayed, slowly, until death. It wasn't really a choice, looking back on it. I knew what was to come, however. Even should I win, they would still kill me. That was how the Noxians were, hungry for blood and violence, hungry for competition, for strength and power and murder. In there, I learned a lesson, one that I would never forget. Death is inevitable; one can only avoid defeat.

I fought as hard as I could, became a star gladiator, a spectacle for all to behold, the main attraction of the blood sport known simply as The Fleshing. They put me in one fight after the other, the cries of spectators rising as more and more people were let in. The crowd became deafening as the final moments of my life came near, as the gates opened and in flooded three-hundred men to the arena. All for me. Already, I was sore, bleeding, and heavy of breath. This was it for me, but still, I clenched my spear, ready for the inevitability that was my end.

But soon, the cheers from the crowd turned to screams, soldiers came rushing into the stadium, flags of gold and blue waving high. From the stands, a man jumped down into the arena, a man of great stature, wearing golden plates of armor and a lance taller than even himself. He gave me his hand. And I took it.

Liberation.

His men followed his command without question, and with their united voices called out "Demacia!" Never had I heard such a word before, but very quickly, I came to know what it meant. Justice. Even my opponents, the three-hundred, were given the same treatment of me, were set free from The Fleshing. We were all forced to fight against one another, all of us prisoners. The sins we had committed were evil that had been forced upon us. Or so, the man known as Jarvan Lightshield had said to me.

He gave my existence meaning. That I could atone, that I had the right to live, that I had the right to justice.

Perhaps, that is why I took the shot that was meant to take his life. A poisonous dart went for him, went to my savior. I put myself between him and the shot, taking it for myself. After that, I don't remember much. All I remember was awaking one day in a lavish room. And there he sat, by my bedside, reading a book.

He gave me a tired smile, the lines in his face running deep. "My father was a man, who in his position, was not afraid to take to the field," he spoke, turning the pages of his book. "In the end, however, he died whilst on the field. No King should ever expect his men to fight for him when he himself would not fight for his men. All solders go into battle prepared to die, and as such, I was prepared as well. You have my thanks, friend."

How stubborn I must have been. "I am not your friend, neither am I one of your men. You saved my life, and simply put, I was returning the favor."

It was the first, and last, time I had ever seen his face harden in such a way. "You think the debt has been paid, have you? I am a King." He smiled, that same tired expression that I would become all too familiar with. "I have you to thank for saving my life. And so, as a sign of my gratitude, I will extend this offer. Become my seneschal."

I, who had no faction, no allegiances, fought in my weakened state to remove myself from bed. I fell before him, before this King of Demacia, and on my knees I bowed to him. Before, I was condemned by Noxus, forced to fight for their entertainment. He had given me my life, he had given me a position in this world, a purpose. He gave me Demacia, his home, and now, it had become mine as well.

Always and forever I will be accepted, just as he did. In my years of service to him, he entrusted many things to me, and of all that he had shared to me, the most important was that of my new home. He once abandoned them. He was their king, and, he ran. He was given the same name of his father, a great man who he had admired, and out of fear of failing him, of letting Demacia down, he ran. But when he returned, ashamed, they embraced him with loving arms. He was their king, and they, his people.

He was Jarvan Lightshield, the Second of His Name and King of Demacia. He was my master, my friend, my brother. Never had I met the First King, but should I ever had, it was in the eyes of my King's son. Prince Jarvan left, just as his father did, to find himself. As he returned, the streets sang praise of their returning prince, and I saw a man, hard and cold, like steel, but his conviction was right and just. It was in these sharp eyes that I saw a man that would one day become king.

Jarvan Lightshield the second slept beside his father, his son stepping forward, now as Jarvan Lightshield, the Third of His Name and King of Demacia.

I knelt before him, my head bowed and spear by my side.

"Xin Zhao," he said to me, "will you serve me, loyally, as you did my father?"

"Now and forever, my King."

I was always at his side, his personal guard, his seneschal, his right hand. Never had I seen a man so respected. I stood at his side with my spear and watched him as he addressed all of Demacia below from atop his balcony. Never had I heard such people accept war so easily as when he delivered that announcement,

Demacia was to fight against Noxus, and all of Demacia stood behind their King.

Justice was to be delivered.


End file.
